


He Scares Me

by nibbler56



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Derek doesn't know how to handle it, Hunting, M/M, Stiles likes to kill things, The joys of killing, dark!stiles, go figures my first sterek fic would be depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nibbler56/pseuds/nibbler56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He saw the change clearly that night. He looked at Stiles, saw the sickenly honest flash of glee in his caramel-honey eyes as he watched the wendigo burn alive, screaming and howling as the smell of burnt, rotting flesh grew heavier and heavier. Stiles didn’t even blink. The worse part however, the one thing that made Derek’s heart and stomach plummet and vomit threaten to fill his mouth, was that Stiles smiled the entire time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Scares Me

Stiles has changed. Derek doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but it did and it scares the hell out of him.

He used to be so innocent. Derek knows that’s not even close to the right word to use, but it’s the best one he’s got. He’s still his sarcastic, funny, awkward social butterfly self, and his affinity for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong is as strong as ever, but he’s not _pure_ anymore. Seeing the things he’s seen, Derek really can’t blame Stiles for end up so fucked in the head. It’s still not okay.

If he had to pick the general time that the human started going awry, it would have to be somewhere in the year after they were rid of the Alpha pack and their own pack was finally finding it’s rhythm.

Cora was the first one to notice there was something wrong with him.

Derek would never be able to forget that day. The way it was pissing rain and thundering, how Isaac had woken him up to complain about water getting in and dampening his bed, how Isaac took it upon himself to tend to the upstairs while Cora and him went downstairs to repair the massive West-view window. That’s when she said it, almost too quiet to be heard over a clap of thunder.

“Stiles scares me.” Derek didn’t ask her why and when she didn’t offer an explanation over the next few days, he didn’t press the topic further than a quizzical glance or two.

 _Stiles_ scares me.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks later that Derek understood. Some hunters from up North had been hunting down a wendigo, chasing it from territory to territory in an attempt to corner it, when they called up Chris Argent for some backup. Cannibalistic spirits were about the farthest thing from his realm of expertise- he specialized in werewolves, after all- so he came to Derek for help, figuring a supernatural would have a better chance of killing another supernatural. He admittedly didn’t know nearly enough, but Stiles had taken it upon himself to do all the research they needed.

That’s when they got the call; the hunters became the hunted and were slaughtered. Stiles was at the scene almost as fast as the werewolves themselves, babbling out every tiny bit of information he’d uncovered- _“They used to be human. People would get lost in the woods during the winter, usually, and turn to cannibalism to survive”, “They have a better sense of smell than any of you; eyesight too”, “As far as anyone can tell, they don’t have a limited life span”, “They’re always hungry but no matter how much they eat or how big they get, they can never feel full”_ \- with notes and diagrams and weird Latin quotations to complete his little lesson. In the end, it was _Stiles_ who came up with the plan of action. A brilliant plot really, something he claimed to have been inspired by an episode of Supernatural.

Kill. The human insisted there was absolutely no other way to deal with the damn thing.

It ended up nearly gutting everyone; Derek’s pack and Scott having fought harder than they ever had save for the Alpha pack, and they were all out cold, their bodies trying to mend the intense damage of broken bones, mutilated flesh, and torn organs.

Derek thought for sure that he was going to die as the creature slowly turned on him, blood oozing from its mouth. That’s when Stiles came in- after Derek thought he’d abandoned them, smeared in the blood and flesh of the dead hunters to mask his scent. The possibly crazy human, all one-hundred-fourty pounds of him, doused the wendigo in gasoline and set it ablaze with his own interpretation of a Molotov Cocktail, mere feet from Derek’s bruised and broken body.

He saw the change clearly that night. He looked at Stiles, saw the sickenly honest flash of glee in his caramel-honey eyes as he watched the wendigo burn alive, screaming and howling as the smell of burnt, rotting flesh grew heavier and heavier. Stiles didn’t even blink. The worse part however, the one thing that made Derek’s heart and stomach plummet and vomit threaten to fill his mouth, was that Stiles smiled the entire time.

Stiles didn’t just scare Cora. Stiles scared _him_.

It became a regular thing after that. If there was a monster that needed killing, Derek could expect Stiles to be there even if no one tipped him off. It wasn’t until much later, a few months after the wendigo, having just watched Stiles more than readily slit the throat of a vengeful Forest Guardian, that he found out something that he really should have realized sooner.

Peter had approached him as the others burned the body and celebrated their victory, a crack of uneasiness in his usually cool, sarcastic demeanour. He’d pulled Derek off to the side and spoke in a hushed tone, just quiet enough that the pack wouldn’t hear over their laughter, “He likes it. He doesn’t just want to help us, he wants to have a reason to kill. Just look at him.”

And he’d done just that. He looked at Stiles and saw the same look that the boy had last time, except now he didn’t look satisfied with his work. He looked _hungry_.

Stiles had twisted his ankle pretty badly during the fight, so Derek agreed to drive the teen home since Scott was fussing over a hurt Allison. Once in the jeep- Boyd had the keys to the Camaro- Derek had started it without a word and started driving off in the direction of the human’s home.

“What did Peter say to you?” The question caught him off guard, still makes him flinch a little when he thinks about how Stiles had actually noticed when his pack didn’t.

“Nothing. Just told me to be more careful.”

“Huh.”

He thanked his stars that Stiles dropped the conversation then, but everything was almost too tense after. The teen just watched him the entire way back, blood drying on his face, clothes, in his hair, a faint knowing smile decorating his lips. It made Derek feel sick.

All that happened two years ago. He was now sitting with a nineteen-year-old Stiles in his room, arms folded over his chest and leaning against the doorframe as he watched the other gingerly clean his wounds; shirtless and covered in not only a witch’s blood, but his own.

“You like killing things.”

Stiles laughed a little and shook his head, smirking up at Derek. “Isn’t that my job?” He turned back to patching up the cut on his arm. “I do all the research, I know how to kill them as quickly as possible… Besides, I like being able to actually _do_ som-“

“It’s my job, _the pack’s job_ , to kill them. We can heal, but you… You just stay hurt. For a long time.” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Stiles sighed and tossed the cloth he’d been cleaning himself with to the ground, giving Derek a tired look before getting up and stalking over, meeting his gaze as he pulled Derek’s arms form his chest to press his bloody palms and body against Derek’s front, kissing lovingly at his neck. “Come shower with me. Let’s not have this conversation right now.” He just nodded and followed Stiles into the bathroom.

That was something else that had changed- they’d been fucking since Stiles turned eighteen. He wasn’t sure how it had happened exactly, all he knew is that he almost lost Stiles to a rogue Alpha one night and, after tearing the woman’s throat out with his teeth, all his wolf, all _Derek_ , could think of was the need to have Stiles, to make him his so he’d never want to leave.

They didn’t have sex in the shower. Stiles had tried, but Derek just couldn’t take him covered in blood and cuts, it felt like sleeping with the darker side of his mate and not the fun-loving, sarcastic boy that they all clinged to so desperately just to make sure that side actually stayed. He ended up gently washing away every trace of blood and kissing Stiles so softly he could practically smell the frustration rolling of the young man in waves.

They laid on top of the covers afterwards, the bright green 2:19AM of his alarm clock blinking mockingly at them, reminding him that just two hours ago the human wrapped up in his arms had stabbed a witch in the eye with a cross soaked in holy man’s blood.

His thoughts were interrupted when Stiles kissed his collar bone and mouthed something against it before slipping into a restful sleep.

 _You’re scared of me_.

He really was.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first actual fic for Teen Wolf, so pretty please tell me what you think and give me some constructive criticism? Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
